


See Me, Feel Me

by dramady, edonyx



Category: Adam Lambert - Fandom, American Idol RPF, lambliff
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:19:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/edonyx/pseuds/edonyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pulling Tommy's hair has dramatic and mind-boggling effects (beware, crack ahoy!)</p><p><b>Disclaimer:</b> This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See Me, Feel Me

"There he goes, my baby walks so slow, sexual tic-tac-toe, I know that we both know it isn't time ...."

And with that, Adam gets a handful of Tommy's hair and _yanks_ it back, watching that little body bend like a divining rod. He lets go but something _really_ strange runs up his arm, like a spasm.

Weird.

He's able to shake it off and the night ends on a high. Everybody's laughing and hugging and all that, but it's like Adam can't _see_ clearly for a second. He holds on to Tommy's shoulder and then, it's just like a _blam_ and his whole perspective shifts. He blinks, arms out to his side to steady himself and he says, "oh, shit."

Except that it comes out all ... not his voice. Adam holds up his hands.

Those aren't his hands.

He turns around, right?

First, he has to look up, which makes no sense. Then he realizes he's looking at him_self_. "Ho, shit!"

And Tommy, who's suddenly feeling _tall_, looks back at Adam with wide blue eyes, his expression careful and surprised and just a little bit terrified. "What-?" It's Adam's voice, and when he looks around, it kind of seems like nobody's the wiser about what's just happened. Except himself and Adam. Adam, who's Tommy, and Tommy, who's Adam. What the holy fuckbuckets just happened? "Hey, Tommy?" He tries to make it sound all casual, but talking to _himself_ is about as fucked up as it gets. "You wanna come over here for a second?" Over here. How lame. Adam wouldn't say something like that. He'd probably grab Tommy by the arm and haul him away, laughing.

"Uh, yeah," Adam says and he nods (Tommy's body feels _really_ strange). "Sure, A - yeah, I mean. Yeah." And he walks over - Jesus, Tommy, how tight are these pants?! He gets a hold of _his_ hand and starts walking, _pulling_ To - Adam - toward the dressing room (much to the amusement of the people there), but thankfully, he can shut the door and wave his - Tommy's - arms around. "What happened?!"

"Fuck if I know!" Oh god, it's so fucking weird to hear Adam's voice come out of his mouth. Except it's not really his mouth, is it? It's Adam's mouth, duh, because Tommy is _in Adam's body._ And not in any kind of sexy way, either, even if Tommy kind of really likes Adam's body as it is. "You're really fucking tall, you know." And warm, in this outfit, whew. "How do you _wear_ all this shit? Seriously. You did it to _me_, 'cause you were all like 'c'mere, glitterbaby' during Fever, and then it got all weird! What the _fuck!_"

"I don't know, quit yelling! I need my voice! You - I - Quit yelling!!" It doesn't help that before he went on tonight, Adam put on boots with a three inch heel. That puts him nearly at 6'5" and Tommy's not _short_, but not tall either, Adam is realizing, looking up at himself. "No yelling. Take the jacket off, it's Skingraft." And the way Tommy eats, well ... Just saying. "... you don't seem to sweat. That's weird."

"No shit! And of course I sweat, I'd die if I didn't. And it's not like I pant like a dog to get rid of it, either." The jacket comes off, tossed on a chair before Tommy realizes that Skingraft means expensive, and hangs it up, instead. Whoops. "I gotta take these boots off, too. How do you _walk_ in these? And honestly, do you _need_ to be any taller? My face is itchy, what the fuck." Tommy drops gracelessly into a chair to yank the boots off, glancing up at Adam. In Tommy's body. "I looked good tonight, didn't I? I still look good." There's a flash of a grin, and it feels weird because it's not his mouth that's doing it, but thank _fuck_, the boots are off. "Do you have normal shoes around here?"

"You saw what I had when I came in." With a huff, Adam-in-Tommy's-body points to the snakeskin boots by the clothes rack. "Just ... be careful, okay? There should be tea delivered soon. Drink it. Hot tea. Just ... " Another sigh and Adam goes over to Tommy's clothes.

A striped hoodie and skinny jeans. "Oh my, God," Adam sighs. "This is a nightmare."

"You're telling me," Tommy grumbles, trying to get into those boots. At least they've got some kind of normal-ish heel instead of _high heels_, and what is Adam, Prince? Not that Tommy minded looking when he was, you know, _Tommy_. Just... _walking_ in them is a pretty big bitch. Then he goes to check out what Adam's got to wear that's even remotely normal. And comfortable. "You got jeans or anything here? Or a hoodie?"

"No! And you aren't buying one. Period. You're me. You have a ... standard to uphold. Just ... " Adam veers course over to _his_ clothes. (His amazing clothes! He loves his clothes!) "Put on this." He holds out a Diesel embossed t-shirt. "And the black. And this. And the boots. Oh, god." He groans again as someone knocks on the door. "We have a meet-and-greet."

"Are you shitting me. Fuck. I forgot all about that." Tommy pulls off Adam's stage clothes, looks around for some deodorant or something to smack on, because performing in all those clothes means he's feeling a little bit Unsure. Sure? Unsure. Shut up, he knows it's an old commercial. "We'll be out in a second!" Tommy calls toward the knock, in Adam's voice. _Weird._ "You have to wear hoodies and jeans though. And you better not bitch about it, because it's fuckin' comfortable. You'll see." Once Tommy's in Adam's clean clothes, he raises an eyebrow at _himself_ to get dressed.

"We are _so_ going shopping when we're done. Or tomorrow. Whatever. We're going shopping. This is ridiculous," Adam grumbles as he pulls off one set of clothes to pull on another. "These reek of smoke," he feels compelled to point out. "Just ... don't talk too much, okay? Just 'hi, how are you,' right? Just that. And drink the tea, okay?" Adam gets himself in front of the mirror, getting ready to fuss, only it's ... not him. "Oh, God. Come here," he beckons to his body. "I need to fix my face."

"I can't believe how much makeup you wear," Tommy complains, coming over to Adam. "Like, you look hot as shit, you know? But _wow._" He's trying to remember Adam's instructions. Drink the tea, don't say much. "No shopping. I like my kicks, okay? And my clothes are fine." But what if they don't switch back? What if they're _stuck_ like this? Oh god, he has to _sing!_ "And deal with the smoke, there's Febreeze in there somewhere. I'll give you a shot." He sits where Adam can fix his face. "Bet it's easier from this side, huh? And if you poke me in the eye with that pencil, I'm never going to touch your dick again. Even though it's mine right now." The Glambulge, right _there._

"Shut up," Adam retorts, but he has to laugh. "I won't touch your dick either. Asshole." Getting his make-up bag, Adam comes over and at least their height difference is better here. Reasonable. He rummages through the bag to find a sponge. "Don't make everyone look at me like I'm crazy, okay? When we get back to the hotel, we can try to figure out what's what."

"Dude, this is crazy enough as it is. I do _not_ want it to look even more crazy. I'm not down with the cray." Tommy holds still as Adam fixes his own face, thinking about what he _could_ do with Adam's body that wouldn't be totally crazy. "Think you can play bass still? Or is that, like, something I have to do? Even though I've got your voice and I can hit these _noooooootes!_" Which Tommy does, right in Adam's face. Tommy's face. His own face. Whatever.

"I told you to quit singing!" And Tommy's hand is slapped over Adam's mouth. "Quit singing. God. I have no idea if you can play bass, but if _I_ suddenly start playing bass? That's weird, remember? Of course if _you_ have to and can't, well ... shit. We might have to tell Monte." Adam leans back, looking his face over. "Okay. I guess you're ready. Let's get this over with. Don't make Lane suspicious. Yet."

"I'm not _gonna,_" Tommy insists, fighting the urge to scratch his face. Adam's face. Again, whatever. "Wait, c'mere, my hair looks stupid." No comb, no brush, just some fingering to get the black swatch in the front where it needs to be, and then Tommy steps back. "There. You look fine. You look like me. Do I look like you? Hi. Hi," Tommy practices. "How're you? I'm good. Thanks. Thank you. Is your signature still going to look the same? Fuck."

"Just ...scrawl, I don't know. I don't even know what your signature looks like! Shit." With a sigh, Adam shakes his head and goes to the door, pulling it open. Lane stands there, waiting with the tea. Test-time! "Hi!" he says and Lane gives him an absent smile, before handing the tea to Tommy and starting to talk about how many people were there, how long they'll stay, that kind of thing. Adam stands over her shoulder - well, at an angle - and just gestured, _be cool_.

Maybe it's only Adam that can see the flash of flustered panic on Tommy's face (Adam's face, whatev) before he takes the tea and sips it. Ugh. Why isn't it coffee? Oh yeah, singer's voice, must maintain, blah blah. If he knew that Adam wouldn't totally _murder_ him, Tommy would sneak out for a cigarette before starting the M&amp;G. But he nods at what Lane's saying, letting himself be led to the table where the band's sitting. He can hear the murmur of people outside waiting. And Tommy's _seen_ how girls react to Adam. They _cry._ Tommy's not good at dealing with crying girls. But it looks like he has to put up or shut up (or both), in case they're found out.

For what everyone can see, it looks like Tommy slides into the seat right next to Adam. Sure, he might be sitting up straighter than he normally does, and he keeps fussing with his hair, but nothing weird here, right?

Monte's on Adam's other side and LP next to Tommy and here come the fans, like a mass of frantic energy. "Okay," Tommy seems to whisper to Adam. "Just ... smile and say hi and don't let anyone tongue-kiss you."

"Stop touching my hair," Tommy-Adam hisses back, smile firmly in place. "You're making it look like I've got bugs." No tongue-kissing, check. Definite big neon red CHECK. Tommy'll have no kissing at all, if that's alright. He's seen Adam's fans, and while a lot of them are really super cool, there are just as many _crazy_ ones. He scribbles out Adam's name what feels like a million times, smiles, poses for pictures, and holy fuck of _god_, there's one crying girl that makes him feel all awkward and weird, but he puts his arm around her shoulders and smiles anyway when the picture's taken. They're just overwhelmed, Tommy guesses, and he tells the crying girl, "It's okay. It's alright. Thanks for coming out, thanks for being a fan," and his smile is softer and much more genuine.

He does really well, actually. Adam's impressed. And he has to scale himself back for all the people who come up to him. "Hi," he says, over and over and tries to scrawl Tommy's name as illegibly as possible and has to remember not to smile for pictures. Surprisingly, being Tommy is hard! For Adam anyway.

And Tommy has to remember to _smile_ for pictures, when his default face is something like ":|". It puts into perspective how awesome Adam really is, the _real_ Adam; how gracious and calm and accommodating, how polite, how _nice._ And it gives Tommy a newfound respect for his singer, too, because this shit is _hard._ When the last of the fans are escorted out, Tommy slouches back in the seat with a gusted sigh. "Oh god, I'm going to punch a hole in the wall for a shower. I'm not even kidding. Tommy? We're leaving."

Monte looks over at Adam, both eyebrows up. Punch a wall?

"Hah," Tommy (Adam) says to Monte quickly. "He's been around me too long. But dude," Adam says, "I'm not gonna shower with you, okay?!" And he snorks out a pretty unconvincing laugh as he stands. Ugh, the hoodie feels like steel wool. How can this be comfortable?! For one last salvo at failing at being Tommy, he looks over at LP, who holds out a fist. What is Adam supposed to do with that?

Oh, wait. That's right. Adam curls his hand into a fist and bumps it against Longineu's, barely biting the urge to raise his hand and squiggle his fingers. _Glitter!_ Then they can make their escape.

Once it's just the two of them, Tommy sprays out his laughter. "That was so fuckin' hard! And nice fistbump there, seriously. You need to learn to do it right. Like _this._" Tommy takes his own hand and balls it up properly, and then bumps fists with Adam. Thank god they're not far from the hotel, because Tommy wants _out_ of this makeup. Even if the clothes are pretty comfortable. "You did good, by the way."

"Rings," Adam reminds him, rubbing at Tommy's knuckles. "Ouch." But yes, they can grab their bags and get into the van for the trip to the hotel. Even the step into the vehicle is a new experience, high! But once inside, Adam is quick to give his body a poke in the chest. "Your eating habits are changing while you're me," he hisses. "Make no mistake about that."

"Oh come on, a Whopper isn't going to kill you. Besides, when was the last time you had decent fast food anyway? Every time I see you, you're eating something raw, or green, or sushi-shaped. Eugh. I want a fried egg sandwich. I wonder if room service has them..." And of course, knowing his own body, Tommy knows exactly where he's stupidly ticklish, and digs his fingers into his own body, just to drive Adam nuts. "You're not touching my clothes, though. Okay? Not one thing. Especially my hoodies. That's like, death from above if you do that. I promise."

"ACK!! No!" Adam bats at Tommy's hands, his hands, ugh! His manicure! He's mourning it already. "No fast food! You hate all the make up?! Eat that shit and you'll hate it even more. A few better pieces of couture wouldn't kill you. Stripes make you look skinnier, anyway. Downright scrawny." Ha! _Ha_.

"Oh fuck you with a fork," Tommy mutters, shoving Adam's head. "Watch _this._" He brings his hands up to his face (Adam's face) and rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes, then over his mouth, smearing up all that carefully-applied makeup. Yeah. Take that. That's for saying Tommy's scrawny. He's _not_ scrawny! He's just... little. When they get to the hotel, Tommy bangs Adam's head on the top of the door of the van, getting out. "Mother_fucker!_" Not used to the spatial difference quite yet, apparently. "Now it looks like we made out." Smirk.

"You are such a bitch," Adam mutters, hands itching to _fix_ his face. Tommy's a little bitch. "When we get into my room" - the suite, right? - "you are washing that face with the right cleansers, then you're taking care of my clothes and looking at the schedule, and we're going to figure out how to _fix_ this. Remember to smile." There are fans waiting by the door that they have to get by, walking quickly, too. God.

Tommy knows Adam's all smeary-faced, so he reaches over and smudges his thumb over his own mouth, bleeding the red lipstick around. _Now_ it looks like they've been making out, hah. And there are fans to take pictures. Not to say that Tommy and Adam haven't made out before, like, four or five times, but never when they knew they'd have pictures taken. Like after Adam's birthday party when they'd both been utterly _shitcanned_. No paps, no friends or family with cameras. Just the two of them in Adam's suite. That had been _good times._ But Tommy breaks out Adam's brightest smile and keeps a hand on the small of his own back to lead Adam into the hotel. "Bet your ass I'm washing my face," he mutters through that smile. "And then I'm ordering fried eggs, having a shower, and you can figure out the schedule."

"You are NOT eating eggs! Oh my God, if you don't start listening to me, I'm going to arrange to have you knocked out until we can figure out how to switch us back. You will not sabotage me, you ass." At least Adam doesn't have to fake a smile as they get through the doors and into the lobby. He has to remind himself, however, to let Tommy lead the way, though. In the elevator, he slouches against the wall. "I'll give you this, though, these shoes? Totally comfortable." He can only look at his own face in snatches - the smeared make up! God.

It makes Tommy laugh, and again, there's that weirdmoid moment where Adam's laugh comes out of him (because, durr, it's Adam's body). He drops an arm around his own shoulders, pausing for a moment to think maybe that he _is_ kind of small. Holy crap, he wants a burger, though. A big one with cheese and bacon and those angry onion things. He'll wait until Adam's asleep, or something. "I don't intend to sabotage you, by the way. I'm just... not used to it. Hi, who would be? I'm in the sexiest rock star alive's body right now trying to figure out what to do if we _can't_ get back." The elevator dings on their floor, and when Tommy steps out, the sole of his boot (Adam's boot) peels off like a banana skin. "Oh. Uh. Sorry?"

"Oh, that was just super-glued, don't worry about it." Adam waves dismissively. He goes to reach for his keycard and is reminded that he's not him. Ugh. "Open the door, okay? I hope we don't have to like, run into each other to change back." Wow, his body is warm. And who knew how nice it was to cuddle against someone taller? It's nice. "The face cleanser's on the vanity, okay? And use the brush. Circular motions."

Tommy makes a hand gesture like _blah-blah_, and gets the door open. "Vanity, circular motions. Sure. Are you sure I just can't use a washcloth and just give it all a good scrub?" The boots come off and Tommy takes Adam's body into the bathroom to look at himself in the brightly-light mirrors. "Wow!" There's the sound of Adam's laugh again. "I _destroyed_ your makeup! Go and have a cigarette or something, my lungs are probably _dying_ for it." He starts the water, waiting until it starts to steam before getting that cleanser out and globbing some of it into his hand. Does it work like soap? "Uh, you wanna give me a hand here?"

"Holy shit. That's like four days' worth. Honestly." With a grimace, Adam takes the face brush and squidges off the cleanser from his own fingers and ... washes his own face.

It's weird. But at least he knows it's being done right. It's interesting, too, at this perspective. "Not all of us have great skin, you know," Adam feels compelled to note as he scrubs. "Is that why I feel all jittery? Maybe now's a good time for you to quit. Smoking kills, you know."

Tommy just lets Adam clean his face, chin tipped up and eyes closed, and god, the glitter in his hair is driving Tommy _insane._ "You should totally shower with me. I wanna see what I look like naked. Like, from another viewpoint. Don't worry, I won't make your body get all hot and sexy on mine. Also, suffocating your skin with _makeup_ kills, too! Happened to the Tin Man in Wizard of Oz, didn't you know that? And you can see some dude who hung himself in the background of one of the scenes. _Brutal._ Go and smoke, it'll make you feel better."

"Hearing you say all of that with _my_ mouth is seriously killing me. You _have_ to shut up. We have a show and one of us has to be able to sing, whoever's in my body, okay? So seriously shut up." Are they really going to shower together? It's not like the shower isn't big enough, it totally is. And it _is_ in the name of science, after all. Adam ponders this as he gestures for Tommy to rinse. "This isn't metallic make up, jackass." But he goes over and starts the shower, anyway.

"Eat my ass," Tommy retorts, grinning, rinsing the cleanser off his face, and he's free! Free! _Freeee!_ Or something like that. "You wouldn't call this glitter metallic? Come on, Adam, this stuff sticks to _everything._" The Diesel shirt comes off, then the jeans, then Adam's shorts and socks, and look at that, he's naked. In Adam's body. And _wow._ The Glambulge _is_ something to be impressed with. "How do you walk around with this thing? Your voice is gonna be _fine_ tomorrow, by the way. I'm not the one that's smoking. Yet."

"Don't make me handcuff you to the bed." That's not an idle threat, by the way, Tommy. Adam does look his body over, though. Not too bad, huh? Fit. And yeah, maybe he smirks a little. Could do worse in the manhood department. Tommy's body, on the other hand is _skinny_. His cock is nice, though. Adam finds himself rubbing it, idly, because it feels good, as he climbs into the shower. "No smoking, no fried foods, no trans-fat. Maybe we should call .... " Who? Do any of his friends specialize in out of body experiences? Not a one that he can think of right at the moment.

"_Stop playing with my dick!_" Tommy climbs in after Adam, laughing, and immediately sticks his head under the spray. Goodbye, glitter. "You better feed my stomach some fast food, though, otherwise I'm going to get really pissy." And okay, it should totally be weird to watch himself touch himself, because it's under Adam's power, but it makes Tommy wonder what Adam's thinking. "Jeez, seriously. If you're gonna do it, do it like this." With a fussy frown, Tommy rearranges his fingers on his own cock (weird, yes, we know, this is all some sort of vast mindfuck, right?) and gives himself a squeeze. "No smoking, no fried foods, no trans-fat. But be nice to my dick if you're going to do that, huh?"

"You won't get pissy," Adam says, words coming out a bit thready at the cup and the squeeze. "You're not in your own body. You'll get pissy if you eat crap in my body, because it makes you feel like shit." That feels _nice_.

And it's weird. So, with reluctance, he pushes Tommy's hand away from ... his own cock. Yeah. Just to be safe. "Nice dick, by the way, glitterbaby. I'm still asking you to stop talking and I mean it. Your throat might not hurt, but it still sang a lot tonight and I need to rest it. You need to rest it. Whatever."

Tommy makes his trademark ":|" face using Adam's features, but he shuts up. And he leaves his own dick alone to palm some shampoo into Adam's hair, careful to keep his eyes shut so he doesn't get suds in them. Ouch. "I bet you're dying for a Whopper. When was the last time you had one? I mean, you as in _you_, not you as in you're in my body. Why didn't you ever tell me I was so little?" Not his junk though, thank goodness. That's at least average-sized. Oh wait, he's talking again. Damn.

Exactly. And he gets to feel a Tommy-finger against his mouth. _Quiet!_ "I don't feel like having a Whooper. I feel like ... jittery ... which yeah, we're quitting cold turkey, sucks to be me. And you. I haven't smoked in years. I am trying to stay in shape, not get all fat again. And bad complexion, remember?" At least Tommy is using the good shampoo. Adam takes some then. "You're cute short, by the way. Teeny."

"I'm average height, just so you know." Tommy talks against the press of his own finger, but lets out an indignant sound when Adam says 'cold turkey'. "The fuck _we're_ quitting! If I want my body to have a cigarette, it will! If you don't smoke - just have _one_, okay? - then I'm totally ordering an angry Whopper. And onion rings. And a giant, full-sugar Coke." He ducks his head under the spray to rinse it off, noticing that the water that comes off is grey: leaking hair dye. His own hair, _his_ hair, Cruella DeVille, black and blonde swirl, stopped leaking about a week ago. But then, he's a lazy ass that doesn't do his hair often enough. "You have a great body, by the way. You're all fuckin' _sleek._"

"I know. And I'm going to stay that way, you little fucker." It would come out a threat, except that Adam's kind of a little pleased that Tommy likes his body. You'd think then that that would mean that he wouldn't want to fuck it up. Apparently not. "No Whoppers. Nothing like that. I'm serious." And he is. "Suck it up and deal with the fact that you're in my body and you live by my rules while you're in my body, mister."

Which is, Adam realizes, the singularly most ridiculous thing he's ever said. And, for the record, it doesn't go both ways. He will not smoke or eat junk food in Tommy's body.

Except ... huh. He realizes that he _can_. With no repercussions! Ooooh.

Adam's eyes narrow as he looks at Tommy, poking him again in Adam's chest. "If I eat shit and smoke, will that keep you from doing it in my body?"

"Fine, fine." Tommy waves one of Adam's hands. "Just as long as you stop sounding like my _mother_, okay? Because that shit is not on." Once he's clean, he steps out of the shower and looks for a towel, scrubbing it over Adam's hair and then down his body to tie around his waist. "Why does your face feel weird? Like... tight. And kind of itchy." He arms steam off the mirror to look at himself, er, Adam, and frowns. "You think you don't look good without makeup on? Are you nuts?"

"You haven't put moisturizer on yet," Adam tells him. And wow, the towel feels ... bigger. Isn't that weird? Out of curiosity, he dries himself then goes over to the scale in the corner and steps on it. The display tells him _120_ pounds. "Are you kidding me. Jesus. No wonder you get all cocky about eating whatever."

"Not my fault I've got a hollow leg, or something." Tommy smirks at Adam, and then takes a good look at himself. Well, his body that Adam's walking around in. There's nothing wrong with it, really. It's a nice body, and Tommy tries to keep it that way. Sort of. "Where's your moisturizer? There looks like there's about four hundred different things in here that are supposed to go on your face." He rummages around in Adam's toiletries bag, frowning. "Gimme a hand here, would you? Then go and grab a beer. I promise you won't hate it."

"Use this first," Adam tells him, pulling out a bottle of exfoliating treatment. "Just a little, okay? Like enough for your fingertip. Then this." The moisturizer. "Your bangs are driving me crazy, by the way." He shakes his head again, finally reaching up to tuck hair behind his ear. "I hate beer, sorry. But I _will_ have, like, three martinis. While you drink tea."

"You're gonna be drunk." That's all the warning Adam gets as Tommy does that exfoliator thing, then rinses because it feels a little like rubbing sand on his face, then fingers out some moisturizer to rub into Adam's skin. "You're high maintenance." It doesn't come out sounding like a complaint, just an observation. "Is there tea there already that I can have? You wanna put some on for me? You know what you like. I like extra olives, so don't skinch on them." A twitch of his hips (Adam's hips) sends the towel to the floor, and Tommy comes out of the bathroom to find something comfortable to sleep in. "If you cut my hair, I'm shaving your head. Or making you go blonde again."

All Adam does is wave Tommy's hand at him - dude needs to shut his _mouth_ already, so Adam leads by example. He gets his face moisturized (high maintenance his ass!) and then orders room service. A guacamole burger with an extra order of fries, a pitcher of martinis for him, and a salad for his body with a pot of green tea.

_Whoo_. That burger? The best burger in the history of _ever_. Each time Tommy even _thinks_ of reaching over, Adam slaps his hand. And after his second martini, he slouches low in the sofa, picking up the fries to use them as conducting batons as he tells stories.

After his third martini, Adam finds his cheek against his own chest (who knew it was so broad?) and he's touching his cheek. "I ... don't want to stay this way. I mean, I like you a lot, Tommy," he slurs, "but I like you better in your cute little body. It's funner to make out with you when you're in your own body."

"Oh jeez," Tommy mutters, running his hands over his own hair. "I like being in my own body too. I don't wanna be like this. I don't handle shit the same way that you do." He's on his second tea with honey, and it's really not that bad. Not that he wouldn't mind a beer or two, to be honest, but look what three martinis did to his body! Adam's drunk! And it's pretty fucking cute, actually. "You think my body's cute? Hey, here." He nudges Adam's chin up and touches their mouths together, brief and sweet. "We're gonna get it figured out. Because I seriously can't deal with not eating Whoppers."

"Mmm."

It probably looks pretty weird to Tommy to have his body wriggling closer and closer until he's pretty much straddling his lap. Adam's an amorous drunk as it is, but here he is, in Tommy's body and he _might_ be a little horny. But his eyes are closed, because coming onto himself? Seriously weird. "Do you like _me_, Tommy? I like _you_."

"Man, do you even need to ask?" Tommy's got Adam's eyes closed too, because he doesn't want to see the faces that his body makes. That's like jerking off while looking in a mirror and that's _weird._ Even if it's Adam that's running his body. "You think I'd be sharing a room with you if I didn't _like_ you? If I wasn't... you know. Interested? Or that I'd let you do stuff with me?" He skims one of Adam's hands into his hair and angles their mouths together, almost like that AMA kiss, but... softer. Easier.

Oh boy.

Tommy's fairly certain that the Glambulge just took attention to that. At least, a little bit. "I like when you kiss me," he murmurs on Adam's mouth. "And I like when you touch me." His eyes are still firmly closed, and for a second, he fumbles for the lamp. "Would doing this in the dark be easier?"

"Doing what?" Whooo, Adam's used to being able to drink _lots_ more than this. Being 120 pounds _really_ has its drawbacks. He's kissing a mouth that feels like nothing he's ever kissed and it hits him, hard, that it's _his_. "I'mma .... "

With a soft thunk, Tommy's head lands on Adam's shoulder. Adam's passed out cold.

"Lightweight," Tommy mutters, moving his own body onto the bed. It feels like it weighs next to nothing, and it's easy to tuck his body in, then stretch out next to Adam and turn on the TV. There's gotta be some late night movie on. Maybe he can sneak in a burger...

~*~

"Hey. Adam. Time to get up. You need a McMuffin so you won't barf, okay?" Tommy nudges his body in between the shoulderblades, another friggin' cup of tea in his hand. "We've got press crap to do today and I need your help. Either we need to get back to where we were, or you need to coach me. So get up."

For his trouble, he gets a groan. Just five more hours and Adam will be spic-and-span. Fuck, his head feels like it's full of cotton laced with barbed wire. "Why did you let me drink so much," he grumbles. "Oh, God." A Egg McMuffin? Sounds _heinous_. "How are we going to switch back?"

Tommy shrugs. "You said you were gonna have three martinis. I told you that you'd be drunk. Then you proceeded to do what I told you was going to happen, climbed on me, and promptly passed out. Come on, I put coffee on. You might want to shower, too. It helps with the headache." This is Tommy having no sympathy. Yes, it's his body, but he _warned_ Adam! "Come on." Gentler, as Tommy uses Adam's hand to card through tousled black and blonde hair. "We'll figure out the switching back thing once you've had coffee and aspirin."

"Coffee?" Ooh. Adam can have coffee. That's enough to get him sitting up. "I passed out on you?" How embarrassing. "There should be 5-Hour Energy in the mini-fridge," he notes so that's where he goes first and drains one then staggers to the bathroom. "I'll do my make up when I'm done, okay?" Lots of interviews today. "You know the kind of questions I'm going to get, right? Madonna, Gaga, AMAs. Just ... you know. Talk like me."

"I don't _know_ how to talk like you." But Tommy practices, once he's got one of those energy shots in him. "Oh, the kiss at the AMA's. It ws just a heat of the moment thing, you know? My bassist is straight." Which isn't entirely the truth, but nobody needs to know that. It's just fan service, right? Right. "I _love_ Lady GaGa! She's just so original, and she's an _artist_, like the Madonna of the new millenium." Tommy pauses, leaning his hip on the jamb of the bathroom door. "How'm I doing? Oh, also? My bassist's mouth tasted really good, and I'm totally hot in the pants for him."

"Shut up," Adam giggles out. Giggles. Adam giggles. Which, if he were in his own body, he would find adorable. As it is, he's a little horrified. Ah, fuck it. He's hung over. "That sounds good. Leave out the part about you being straight. Just the whole heat of the moment, you got carried away thing. You already showered?"

"Yep. I didn't know I snored. God, why didn't you ever tell me?" Adam's hair hangs flat and loose, no product to stick it up or make it textured, because all Tommy usually does to his own hair is comb his bangs over and let it dry. Sometimes it gets some hairspray. If it's lucky. "I also didn't know that my voice sounded so dorky. Like, is it weird that you still sound like you? Like, I can tell it's you talking, even though it sounds like me?" And fuck, how are they going to get _back?_

"I sound like me? Your voice isn't dorky," Adam tells him, burbly as he's under the water. "How do I sound more like you? I mean, maybe we should tell someone? Maybe we should tell Lane. Maybe cancel the press for today... I don't know how to sound more like you." Then he's climbing out. Oof, canceling might be a good idea; his body looks ... definitely unprepped.

"Why're you looking at me like that?" Tommy wrinkles Adam's nose, then pokes his tongue out. "Yeah, we can say that you're sick, well, I'm sick, agh, _Adam_ is sick, and blah, blah. Lane might know what to do. God, I want a cigarette." So instead, Tommy goes through Adam's clothes, wondering why on earth he doesn't have anything as _simple_ as a hoodie. "Why are all of your clothes complicated?" Oh wait, there's a t-shirt, and he fishes out a pair of jeans. Just in case they can't get out of the interviews today. "Why couldn't this have happened on a day off?"

"There's no such thing as a day off." Tommy's body gets deodorant and moisturizer. Adam runs some gel through Tommy's hair too (oh, to go to the salon!). "Okay, so let's try this," he says as he comes out, naked and coiffed. "Call Lane and tell her that you're not feeling good. Not that you're sick; she'll freak, but just ... icky feeling."

"Wow. You make me look _good._" Tommy flashes Adam a grin before pulling on a pair of socks and fishing out another pair of boots. The alligator ones'll have to get fixed, later. And he makes the call to Lane, saying no, he's not _sick_, but he's feeling a little under the weather, and could the interviews be rescheduled? And could she come up to the room to talk to Adam and Tommy? He hangs up Adam's phone and sets it on the night table. "She's freaking anyway. She thinks I gave you like, plague or something. Or that you're hung over because of me." Which is the truth, actually, but in a backward kind of way.

"Oh, God. We're going to sound crazy," Adam moans. He's got to get dressed. More skinny jeans and more hoodies. Honestly, Tommy. Honestly.

~*~

Sure enough, Lane looks at them like they've taken some kind of hallucinogen. "You're ... in each other's bodies."

"I swear, we're being honest here," Adam says, sitting Tommy's body next to hers and taking her hand, which is, granted something Tommy would never do. "I don't know how it happened; it was like when I pulled Tommy's hair last night. And we don't know how to get back. So it really is better that we ... minimize the impact, you know?"

She looks at both of them, staring at Adam's face, which is make up free. The hair, too. "You're Tommy."

"Yep. I also feel obligated to point out that I'd still love a burger. I've been itching for one since before the show last night. And Adam won't let me have one." Tommy leans back against the headboard of the bed, hands folded behind his head. "I'm still convinced it's Adam's fault, anyway. He's the one who yanked my hair..." But Adam gets a smirk; Tommy's not actually blaming him, because there's no way to blame anyone for something like this. It's just too _weird._ "If you could rearrange the appointments to like, next week or something? That's be bitchin'. Because I don't know how to sound like Adam, and he doens't know how to sound like me, which means we _have_ to figure out how to get back." Lane gets the smile, now. "Now Adam's going to tell me I'm talking too much."

"Oh, God, you are Tommy." Lane lowers her head into her hand.

"Will you help us fix this?" Adam asks after shooting Tommy a dirty look. Way too much talking.

"Putting this off will be so complicated," Lane tells them. "This is like ... a really bad movie. You know this right?"

"Believe me, I know. Thank you, honey," Adam says, kissing her cheek, because he knows she's going to help them. "We should stay hidden, you know? I was thinking we should tell Monte?"

"No offense, but don't kiss me," Lane tells Adam, who's in Tommy's body, still, and clearly that's weird for her.

Tommy snorks a laugh, getting up to make some more tea, because he knows that look, even though it's coming out of his own face. It's Adam's Head Bitch In Charge look, and Tommy had better do what Adam wants. "So tell them that Adam's got pneumonia or something. We fly back to LA, deal with shit there, nobody knows the wiser. You want a tea, Lane? Adam?" As for telling Monte, Tommy's actually kind of okay with that idea. He's friends with both of them, having been in Citizen Vein with Adam and gone to NAMM and all that crap with Tommy. Monte's a good guy. "Think he'll believe us?"

"We'll get you on a plane home, yes." Lane pulls out her blackberry and starts tapping at it. "If you want to tell Monte, that's fine. We're not talking about pneumonia, have you lost your mind. If that gets out, we're in serious spin control."

"Tea, yes please." And Adam gives Tommy an angelic smile which doesn't seem that out of place on his face. "Thank you."

"We can't let them know you're leaving together either. It's bad enough what the glamberts are saying already."

Oh man, Tommy knew that he was cute, but Adam makes him look _really_ cute! Tommy makes tea for himself and for Adam, and sits down to plan out their great escape.

~*~

Tommy's in Adam's place _by himself_ and it's freaking him out. A lot. Because it's not his place, it's _Adam's_ place, and he's in Adam's body, and the body that Tommy _should_ be in should also be getting dropped off soon. But not soon enough. He sits on the edge of the couch and looks at the darkened TV, at the DVD's and Blu-Rays that Adam has, and decides that as a yay-we're-back present, he's going to buy Adam a bunch of _good_ horror movies. Like Zombieland. And The Exorcist. Where the fuck is he, anyway?

Adam, in Tommy's body? Had to fly coach. And had to be dropped off at his apartment. Then he had to look through his wardrobe, give up all hope and just throw clothes in a bag. Then he had to drive Tommy's old battered Civic out of Burbank and up into the hills.

It's not as romantic as it sounds. And honestly, Adam had to fight the serious urge to stop on Rodeo Drive. Tommy has this amazing body that he isn't dressing well! A travesty! Adam's nearly cranky when he finally gets to _his_ house and doesn't even have a key to get it, having to hit the buzzer to be let in. "Let me in, goddammit!" he shouts into the speaker.

"Yes?" Tommy answers, as sweet as he can manage. "Who is it?" But he lets Adam in without laughing himself stupid, and is peering in the fridge when he comes in. "Man, you need to get groceries. Do you even have _diet_ Dr. Pepper in here somewhere?"

"They deliver food. I'm on a diet, remember? I hate your car, your wardrobe and your apartment, for the record," Adam tells him, flinging the bag to the floor. "Your place smells like fart. Seriously. If you want something like that, you have to call for it. The number's on the fridge. Augh, I want my body back!"

"Do _not_ diss my place! And it probably smells like fart because nobody's _been_ there, and shit is gross in the fridge. Fuckwad. My car is great, my wardrobe is _fine._ You have all this space to yourself, why do you need it?" Suddenly, Tommy's on the defensive, because he _likes_ his life. And his clothes. And his apartment, whether it smells like fart or not. "Sorry I'm not a big fuckin' rock star that got the cover of Rolling Stone about thirty seconds after American Idol was finished, okay? Fuck." He slams the fridge door and walks away from Adam. To where? Tommy's not sure, because the layout of the house is only familiar to the livingroom, and to the patio out back.

"Don't you smoke in my body!" Adam shouts after him.

Argh. Maybe the place didn't smell _that_ much like fart.

Screw it, it did.

Adam takes a bottle of wine from the cabinet and opens it. The one plus of being in Tommy's body; he can do whatever he wants.

~*~

It's dark outside when Adam finally goes out to where Tommy's sitting. He's half a bottle of wine in and he leans against his back (okay, he's prepared to admit that his body? Has nice shoulders). "'m sorry I got mad," he whispers into his ear. "I'm just frusterated."

"Did you get me drunk again?" Tommy asks, and it's clear in the tone of his voice just how badly he wants a cigarette. But he hasn't, okay? Because this isn't his body. "Come here, huh? And gimme a swig of that stuff." He means, for Adam to sit on his lap. His body'll fit against Adam's, they know this a hundred different ways, all of them with clothes on, so this is no different. "I'm frustrated, too, you know. I don't know how to talk or act or smile or _be_, around people. You're so natural and I just don't get it."

Plonking down in his own lap, Adam leans into Tommy's - his - chest and gusts out a sigh. "I know." He hands over the wine bottle. Wine is good for the heart and all that. "It's hard being you too. You don't _smile_ nearly enough, for one. I go around being all somber cuz if you smile, people look at you weird. That's bad. I'm horny though. And I'm in your body." Oh, the tragedy! Tommy can hear the mourning in Adam's voice - well, Tommy's voice, but still.

Tommy tips the bottle up and takes a long drink before handing it back to Adam. In his body. "It's not hard being me, seriously. I'm just... me. And I'm sorry if my place smells like fart, Cris said he was gonna come over and get rid of the food in the fridge before it went raunchy. Guess he didn't. It doesn't usually smell like fart." He puts his arms around himself, and again, he's startled at how little of himself there is to hold. "I put serious thought into jerking off, you know. Just to see what it was like, in your body." It's a good thing it's dark, because Tommy can feel Adam's face warm up. "At least if you want to jerk off, you can go to the bedroom or something. I don't even know where that is, other than upstairs, somewhere."

"I _could_ jerk off!" Adam's voice, or Tommy's that is, is filled with wonder. "And that's like having sex with you! Oooh." Taking the wine back, he takes a long swallow. "You've got a nice dick. I've noticed." Seeing as he's had to pee with it and whatnot. And there are advantages to being Tommy-sized, especially when flying coach. Adam won't tell Tommy about the conversation he struck up with the minister he was seated next to who was ... we'll call it vehemently against sodomy. Tommy with his two-toned hair and chipped nails, gave the reverend quite a talking-to.

"I like my dick, thank you very much. And I like yours, too. It's..." What's the right word? Substantial? _Hefty?_ Tommy turns his head away to laugh. Hard. "It's nice," he finishes, instead, and when he closes his eyes, it's easy to kiss Adam again. The mouth doesn't feel right at all, and it's the same as Adam's observation. It's _Tommy's_ body, his mouth that he's kissing, and even though it does feel nice, warm and tasting of wine, it's strange. "Want me to show you how I like it?"

Tommy's head, loose in his neck, nods and murmurs, "mmmhmmm." Which sounds like Adam, only a half-octave too high. "If you jerked me off, you'd be jerking yourself off," Adam notes, and _that's_ funny. There's that giggle again. "And I could jerk _you_ off and it's masturbatation, still."

"Stop laughing like me, it's weirding me out." Tommy presses Adam's grin against his cheek, and god, this would just be so much less _confusing_ if they were in the right body! _Gawd._ "And it isn't like I haven't jerked off about a hundred million times before... but I'd just be giving you instruction. You'd be the one doing it." Which, come to think of it, is _really_ hot. If only they were in the right bodies. "You wanna?" Adam's the one who's got Tommy's drunk body, but Tommy's the one who's making the dirty suggestions. Well, then.

"I _wanna_," Adam tells him and he slithers from the lap he's been in and he has the wine bottle in one hand and He takes Tommy's/his hand in the other and tugs. "I wanna do it in a bed, though. My bed. So, follow me."

Back into the house, alarm keyed on, up the curving staircase, down a hallway and into a big sprawling bedroom with a big bed.

"_See_?!" The Cheshire cat grin looks odd on Tommy's face. "It's an awesome bed." In fact, Adam kicks off those creepers and climbs on before flopping to his back, wine bottle still upright, of course! "It seems even bigger now!"

"No jokes about my size," Tommy laughs, snagging the bottle from Adam's fingers for another drink before setting it on the bedside table. "Seriously, your place is crazy-swank. No wonder you hated my place." He's not angry this time, not defensive, and Tommy pulls the curtains and makes sure the lights are off. If they're going to do this, he _really_ doesn't want to watch himself. "Okay, c'mere. Kinda... just, c'mere." So Tommy can use Adam's body to brace his own, smaller, chest to back so he can guide his own hand in what he himself knows how to do, so well. And so he can kiss down the side of Adam's neck (because in the dark, it can be Adam, not Tommy kissing parts of his own body, because to think about that too much is just... _gross_), running Adam's larger hands up and down the thighs of Tommy's jeans.

"Oooh." Yeah. Best not to think how either creepy or narcissistic this can be. No. Adam closes Tommy's eyes and _feels_, fumbling open the fly of the jeans this body is wearing. Undies of course, plain old cotton - really, Adam wants to go shopping _so bad_. But with some wriggling, he can get the pants and briefs down around his knees and he can turn around and kiss that mouth that still feels strange, no matter what they do. "Show me," he murmurs. "Wanna feel it."

"Okay," Tommy murmurs. "Just turn, like... like this..." He gets Adam snugged back against him so he can rest his chin on his own shoulder (which, weird), and uses Adam's hand to take his own hand and wrap his fingers around his cock. In the dark, it doesn't matter who's who, and maybe Tommy's teaching Adam something about himself - Tommy, that is - that Adam might not know. That Tommy _wants_ him to know. _I smell good,_ Tommy thinks, randomly, when he tucks Adam's nose behind his ear, kissing the skin just below, guiding fingers that usually know exactly what to do through a stroke or two. And he knows that Adam can feel the press of cock (Adam's, but Tommy's at the same time) against his tailbone.

Tommy's body smells good because Adam used his own cologne, thankyouverymuch. Not that Adam's in any position to point that out right at the moment. Instead, his eyes are closed and he's feeling what he abstractly knows is his own hand jerk Tommy's cock off.

But it feels _really_ good. In fact, Adam makes a little whimpery noise that he can't quite help. He'll chalk it up to the lack of nicotine in Tommy's body. "That's _really_ good," he mumbles through dry lips. "Huh? Good, right?"

"I'm easy to please," Tommy murmurs, tightening their grip, just a little bit. He's going to show Adam how his body likes it, a little tight, a little ungentle. He worries his teeth gently at the side of Adam's throat, rocking his hips up so Adam can feel how it's making Tommy feel too, weird or not, narcissistic or not. It doesn't matter. In the dark, they're who they should be.

"Ooooh." Marks! Adam can be _bitten_ cuz it's not his body! Score! Tommy can feel how his cock responds to that bite, to that hint of roughness. Adam likeee, lots. "Harder," he whispers, giving Tommy a clue too. "Bite me harder." God, this is hot, he realizes soggily. So hot.

Hah. That could very well be Tommy's own brain providing those words, because he _loves_ to be bitten, have marks left on him that he can look at later, can touch, and remember where they came from. At the join of neck to shoulder, Tommy sucks up a hot, livid mark, sliding one of Adam's hands down to his balls, palming them firm up against his body. _His_ body, the one that Tommy should be in, since, well, it's his. But this is sexy on a level that he wouldn't have even thought. "I know what I like." Soft, before moving to the other side of Adam's neck to make a matching mark.

It makes Adam's breath hitch and his head fall back, eyes still shut tight, making Tommy's hips start to move. Forward, into that grip and back, against a bulge there. How long has it been since he had a cock in his ass? On the heels of that thought, he realizes that it wouldn't be his ass! But that he'd be fucking himself.

That's so many kinds of wrong that Adam nearly loses his erection. He manages, however, to banish the thought by turning his head and nosing against a jaw there. "Kiss me."

"'kay." Tommy licks into Adam's mouth, except it's all backward, and he realizes again how nice his own mouth feels, and he's glad that maybe he's not a shitty kisser. There should be a _lot_ more wrong with this than it just being a body swap (like a body swap is no big deal, right?). Tommy's using Adam's hand to jerk off Tommy's cock, when Adam's in Tommy's body, and after that it gets too complicated to follow, so he just _kisses_ Adam, rocking up in little gasps when Adam comes back against him. "Is this what you want?" Whispered hotly between brushes of mouth and tongue. "I've thought about it, you know. What you'd feel like, if we did."

"You have?" And it comes out in Tommy's higher, breathy voice, which, Adam admits, sounds like of sexy. Tommy could totally do twink porn if he wanted to. Adam, in Tommy's body, could do twink porn.

That idea's not as upsetting as it could be.

"Do you want to fuck my ass?" Adam asks in Tommy's voice again. "Is that what you thought about? Me fucking you?" And it's a credit to his drunken mind that he's kept all that straight.

God love Adam Lambert for being so straightforward. Even when he's drunk. _Especially_ when he's drunk. "Yeah, that's what I thought about. If you wanna, I will. Like, now." Because what if they _don't_ change back? What if he has to learn to be Adam? At least Adam's in the same boat. Tommy squeezes their fingers around the base of his cock, dragging up s-l-o-w before pulling back down at the same pace, getting for his trouble, a tittered out moan that starts high and gets lower. "Where's your lube?"

"There're rubbers in the drawer there," Adam says, pointing vaguely at the nightstand. "And the lube, too, yeah. Don't get the cinnamon stuff, it burns, okay? Oh, God, I'm still wearing clothes." Which makes it hard to writhe around like he wants to do. So with a huff, he wriggles just far enough away to start throwing off clothes, turning big brown eyes on his own face, which looks ... kind of sexy all kiss-swollen like that. Huh.

That means Tommy has to open Adam's eyes to get what they need out of the drawer. No cinnamon lube, check. Who the fuck would use cinnamon lube, anyway, if it burns? Honestly. The lube and a condom are tossed onto the bed and Tommy works at peeling off Adam's clothes, which he's sure Adam would _kill_ him if he got anything on them. "Now it's your turn," Tommy husks, naked now, holding the lube in one hand. "Now you gotta tell me how to do it."

Oh. That's right. Tommy's never fucked before. Geez. This could be weird. "Um." Then Adam nods. "Okay, so I'll do it. Okay." Almost to himself as he takes the lube and smears his fingers with it. "Just ... uh. Watch. Cuz you can do it next time." Wink, wink! Which draws Adam's attention to Tommy's eyelashes. So long, shit! For a second, he distracts himself with trying to blink and see his eyelashes, but that only serves to make him dizzy.

Back to the task, literally, at hand. Catching his tongue between his teeth, Adam reaches back and starts to finger-fuck Tommy's ass open.

Wait, does Adam mean he wants Tommy to do it to himself next time? There's going to _be_ a next time?! Tommy feels weird watching, because it's his own fingers in his own ass and he can't feel it! Unfair, life. Un_fair._ Without even thinking, he palms down his own cock (Adam's cock, but Tommy's the one that's feeling it), stroking in time with the press of fingers, watching that instead of his face. Tommy's fairly certain he makes dumb faces during sex. But he's also fairly certain that Adam looks _great._ He just wishes it was Adam's face he could look at.

Just as Adam wishes it was Tommy's. That would mean that they wouldn't be in this situation. But _this_ situation is hot. And it feels really good. Especially when he hits his prostate and he bucks, hissing, cock twitching. "Oooh."

"Holy Jesus," Tommy whispers in Adam's voice, squeezing the head of Adam's cock in his palm. Now that he's actually _touching_ it, Tommy can see why the fangirls make such a big deal about The Glambulge. Because, whoa. "Can... can I help?" In his other hand, the condom wrap crinkles, and he tears it open with his teeth before letting the circle of latex slip out. "Does it feel good? Would I like it?" Tommy leans in and kisses down the line of his own spine, eyes closed so it's not like, masturbation on a whole new level.

"I like it," Adam tells him, turning his head back to nuzzle for a kiss. "I'd forgotten that I like it, right? I do, though." He's got two fingers in there now, working. "I bet you'd like it." How many fingers? Three at least, right? He takes a deep breath again. "You can do it if you want. Three fingers, okay? Gotta - I'm big."

"No shit," Tommy breathes, kissing Adam and kissing him and _kissing_ him, feeling the way his fingers move. Up close like this, he can rub the underside of Adam's cock against the backs of his fingers, a tease, maybe, for himself and for Adam. "Okay, lemme just-" More lube for his own fingers, three of them, and then Tommy nudges Adam's hand out of the way so he can push in, slow and slick. "Oh."

"Oooh." Actually. Tommy's lean body bucks with the invasion. "Right - just - right _there_," Adam hisses, resting his weight on one hand, the other circling Tommy's cock and stroking. "Just ... right there. Oh, fuck me, yeah. Mmmhmm. Yeah."

Tommy pants open-mouthed, getting his other hand up to haul Adam's head back to bite kisses down the side of his neck, and Adam can feel the way his fingers curl inside him, can feel the shudder that runs through him. The condom gets rolled on at like, light-speed, and Tommy nudges against the backs of his fingers. "You ready?" he whispers, tugging on the bottom end of his industrial with his teeth. "Tell me when you're ready."

A tingle runs down the length of Tommy's body and Adam shivers with it. "I'm ready," he gasps out, this body bowed like a divining rod. "I ... I'm really ready." He turns back, eyelids heavy, and says, "fuck me."

Fingers are pulled back, and with a little bit of aiming, Tommy can push Adam's hips up and _in_, and it's slow and fucking _tight_, and he groans against the nape of Adam's neck. "Oh god, am I doing it right?" He's moving slow, in little round rolls of his hips, slick fingers holding tiny hips to pull him back; back against forward, down against up, and Tommy finds he's breathing fast, mouth brushing the sore marks on his own skin, that he himself put there.

Mindfuck, right? Well, as well as a physical fuck. Anyway. Adam digs his/Tommy's hands into the bed and shoves back as well as he's pulled and even though his eyes are closed, he can feel his vision narrowing again. What was -

"Oh, shit." When Adam blinks his eyes open, hey, what do you know, he's looking down at Tommy's back and he's _fucking_ him. "Oh, Jesus Christ, this is fucked." But of course he doesn't stop!

"Oh fuck I'm _drunk,_" Tommy accuses, because it's the first thing he can think of. And after saying that, he can't think about anything at all except the way Adam feels, _Adam_, for _real_, and how there's this hot ache in his body, like falling down a slippery slope into something he knows almost nothing about. He fists his hands in the sheet below him, because hell, they're here, and he doesn't want to stop. His body agrees wholly with this plan, and he pushes back on Adam hard enough that he hears the sharp smack of skin to skin. "Oh thank god, I'm me."

"Thank all the Gods," Adam groans by way of agreement. He gets his hands - _his hands!_ \- around Tommy's hips and hauls him back. "I'm gonna - fuck - I'm gonna fuck you so good." He's not drunk! He's in his own body. And they're having amazing sex. All things are right in the world. Again.

Tommy straightens, and whew, Adam needs to learn that Tommy's got the alcohol tolerance of a gnat! Adam has his hands on Tommy's hips, and Tommy's come back to hold Adam's, bracing himself to meet each thrust with a sound, head back against Adam's shoulder. "Oh this is better," he breathes. "I like being here." In his own body, of course, but being _fucked_, too. This is the universe in its proper order, okay?

Adam's all set to get a hand in Tommy's hair, use that hand to keep Tommy right there, against his chest, but oh, no. He stops that motion in its tracks and instead, he wraps an arm around Tommy's chest. However the fuck that worked, no repeats, please. His other hand, he gets around Tommy's dick, which feels different in his own hand. Not sure how that is, but now is _not_ the time to question it. He rolls his hips, feeling Tommy pushed forward with it into Adam's fist. Yes, exactly. The world as it should be.

Tommy turns his head to groan against Adam's jaw, feeling helplessly pushed and pulled, the angle stiff and sharp, his cock hot and leaking in Adam's fingers. "Oh god," he slurs, breathy and high. "Oh god, yes. Oh fuck, yes." Jesus, it feels sort of like he's fucking himself on Adam's lap, but Adam's holding him, and even though it's only been a day or so, Tommy's never been more glad to be himself than he is right fucking now.

Adam keeps that roll to his hip, but slaps his hips to Tommy's ass at the end of each thrust, going _deeper_, liking how he can hear Tommy's breath catch. And the sounds he makes. Sexy as _fuck_.

Suddenly, there's a note to Tommy's pleasure that makes his hips shudder back against Adam's. Oh god, he's going to come really, really soon, and Adam can feel it in the arch of Tommy's back, in the way his sounds go even breathier, desperate and unthought, ah-ah-_ah_. "Gonna," he gasps. "Gonna come-" And then it hits him, dizzied with wine and sharp like a million bared nerve endings, and the kiss he means to hit Adam's mouth with smears against his jaw and down the side of his throat, instead.

Adam can feel the come on his fingers and he groans too, his rhythm speeding up and going all to hell so that he comes not even thirty seconds later. "Oh, fuck," he hisses out. "Oh, fuck. Jesus your ass is tight." Oh, shit. It feels so _good_. All of it: his own body, Tommy's body, fucking Tommy's body. All of it. "Fuck, yes."

When the rock of their bodies slows, Tommy falls forward on his elbows and knees, panting against the bed. "You're not drinking with my body ever again," he blurs, and then laughs. "Oh my god, we jus' fucked. And it was..." Tommy lifts his head to look at Adam over his shoulder, eyes heavy and dark. "It was fuckin' good. I think we need to do it again when I'm sober."

"Damned straight we will. Oh, God, you're drunk. That's hilarious." And Adam's back in his body. God yes. He needs to call Lane. They need to make up the canceled press. They have so much to do. Later. Not now. Now, he pulls back and tosses the condom, falling to the bed and taking Tommy with him. "You're staying here, right?"

"You got me drunk!" Tommy swats at Adam before deciding that swatting takes too much energy, and he's just too comfortable. "Not like I can go home or drive or anything. Plus, your bed is stupid-comfortable." Oh man, it's good to hear his own voice when he talks, and know how things are going to feel when he touches them with his own fingers. Like Adam's hair, right now, or the point of his shoulder. "I. Am going to have a cigarette. And a Whopper. Does Burger King deliver if you're famous?"

"No, dork. You haven't smoked in like however long I was in your body. You should quit. You don't smell like smoke, either, which is awesome. Think about it." Adam's got Tommy snuggled against his chest and it's _nice_. "I'm never pulling your hair again. Like, ever."

"Boo-urns," Tommy feels compelled to complain. "That sucks, because hair-pulling is hot like fuckin' burning, okay? And it's been exactly one day and the nicotine chip in my brain is screaming for smoke." Which is a pretty wild exaggeration, when Tommy's got his eyes closed and is about thirty seconds away from good solid pass-out sleep. Goddammit, why did Adam have to drink red wine? Tommy's going to have a bastard of a headache tomorrow. But apparently sex is good for headaches, and he murmurs that to Adam, just to put the idea out there.

"Naptime." It's only, like 8 PM. Adam's already thinking that they can snooze for a little while and then fuck again. Then he'll call Lane. He's excited about waking up in his own body. In a flash of panic, he hopes he actually will, but that's stupid, right? Instead, he buries his nose in Tommy's hair and closes his eyes. Plus of living in Tommy's body for like thirty-six hours? He kind of learned that his bassist is sexy and more than a little awesome. Win.

Tommy, on the other hand, has learned not to let Adam drink for him. He's also learned that being Adam is a lot harder than it looks, and he's gained a _lot_ of respect for someone who'd been his friend two days ago, and more recently than that, a lot more. He finds one of Adam's hands and laces their fingers together, giving them a squeeze.


End file.
